


just forget the world

by luxluminaire



Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-03-10 00:18:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18927472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxluminaire/pseuds/luxluminaire
Summary: On one November night, everything changed for Adam and Caleb. Now, in the aftermath of violent acts and terrible truths, they must reckon with the irreversible consequences of that night - and figure out the best way to move forward and support each other through the difficult times ahead of them.(Adam and Caleb, in the days following "Safe House.")





	1. Adam, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content Warning:** I've warned for it in the tags as well, but just a heads up that chapters 1 and 2 of this fic both contain brief mentions of past self-harm.

Adam has thought that the worst would be over by the time he returned home from the not-so-safe house, but from the moment he passes through the door he realizes that he still has so much more to face.

Seeing Annabelle in the living room is bad enough, sitting next to his mother on the couch and wearing an expression of worry as if it’s not partially her own fault that he’d been in so much danger in the first place. He accepts his mother’s hug of relief, but when Annabelle embraces him he remains stiff in her arms, fighting against his instinct to push her away. The sick feeling in his stomach increases as he remembers everything that she has done to traumatize Mark and betray Dr. Bright’s trust.

“Why did you lie about where you were today?” his father asks, posing the question that had gone unspoken when he’d driven Adam home after Dr. Bright had brought him and Caleb to Caleb’s house.

“It’s not like I’m the only one who’s lied,” Adam replies. He knows that he should be choosing his words with care, crafting a response to diffuse the situation rather than escalate it, but he is far too on edge to do so. He looks directly at Annabelle and continues with, “I know what she really does for her job, how she experiments on people without their consent. And I _also_ know that the reason I was in so much danger today was because she provoked a guy who’s extremely dangerous. A guy who Caleb had to practically beat to death to keep from kidnapping me. So maybe we should start with _that_ instead.”

The room falls deadly silent, and then all hell breaks loose. Everyone’s voices tangle together into a cacophony of arguments in true Hayes and Whitney family fashion, anger and accusations flying forth in fury.

“You promised us that you’d make sure that Adam is safe from any dangerous atypicals that might be out there--”

“You never said anything about any kind of ethical violations in the programs you were running--”

“For Christ’s sake, Becca, you know I’d never deliberately put him in danger--”

“How can you say that Caleb isn’t dangerous when he seriously injured someone--”

“You might not be a doctor, Annabelle, but you still have to act in accordance to basic human rights--”

“Caleb was in a room full of angry people and was trying to protect me. You can’t blame him--”

“I do what I need to do so that people like us don’t have to fear atypicals, even if it means having to do the things that others don’t have the stomach for--”

“How can you be sure that Caleb isn’t going to hurt you--”

“Caleb would never do anything to hurt me--”

“I knew those older friends of yours were going to be trouble. You’re seventeen, you shouldn’t be hanging out with people in their twenties--”

“You can’t pretend that you’re working for the greater good when it puts your own family in danger--”

“I’m going upstairs,” Adam eventually declares, his temper snapping with all of the tension in the room. He’s not sure if everyone else hears him over their heated words that always seem to circle back to Annabelle’s work, and none of them make any attempt to stop him as he stomps out of the living room.

Upon climbing the stairs to his bedroom, he slams the door behind him and immediately turns on some music to drown out the voices downstairs. He lies on his bed, staring at the ceiling as every heightened emotion inside of him drains out into nothingness. This emptiness is always the worst feeling, so easily mistaken for sadness that even Caleb and his infinite empathy often categorize it as such. The emotion is far more complex than simply feeling bad about himself or his current situation, however. Instead it is a powerful void that pulls him in and sends him spiraling, making him wish that he could feel _anything_ else besides this crushing numbness.

He used to have far unhealthier ways to force himself to feel something, when he would convince himself that pain was better than nothing, but now he is too afraid to press the sharp edge of a blade against his skin to achieve that moment of clarity. No, not _afraid_ , he reminds himself. Choosing not to self-harm doesn’t make him a coward, it makes him _brave_ , or at least that’s what his therapist tells him. Adam doesn’t always believe the sentiment, especially when he still feels the temptation to cut like an itch deep beneath his skin, but he refuses to give in no matter how badly he wants to. He is stronger than those urges, and when his depression often feels like an unconquerable mountain it is the small victories that count the most.

He loses track of time as he lies there, stuck in his mental fog while the voices downstairs continue their argument. Each time he hears a lull that makes him think that maybe everyone has finally run out of steam, they soon resume. It’s mostly just his mom and Annabelle now, as far as he can tell, and he suspects that the two most headstrong women in his family will not back down until someone or something forces them to do so. After what feels like hours, he hears the front door slam shut with what he assumes is Annabelle’s departure, followed by silence in the rest of the house. He waits for his parents to tell him to turn down his music or try to re-engage him in conversation, but by some stroke of luck they have clearly decided to respect the boundaries that he has put up.

His phone soon buzzes with a text from Caleb: _Can we skype? Everything's been rlly shitty since I got home and I want to see you_. Adam immediately replies with _Yeah same here. Let me get my computer and I’ll call you_. He then retrieves his laptop from his desk and finds a comfortable seated position on his bed to set up the video call. While he waits for the call to connect, he lowers the volume on his music that continues to play, now that he no longer needs to drown out any voices from downstairs.

“Hey,” Caleb says upon answering the call. Seeing him fills Adam with an immediate sense of deep comfort, a stark difference from the nervous butterflies that he’d get a year ago when Caleb was nothing but his crush who barely knew he existed. “I have to be quiet. I told my parents I was going to sleep, and you know how weird they are about no screens before bed.”

He glances toward his closed bedroom door, as if he is worried that the sound of his voice will carry into the hallway. Adam hopes for both of their sakes that they can talk as long as they need to without any parental interference. In the absence of being at Caleb’s side to help him balance out the noise of everyone’s emotions, a video call is the next best thing to sustain them through the long hours until they can see each other in person.

“You said things have been bad since you got home,” Adam says. He is careful to not specifically ask Caleb about how he’s feeling, because under the current circumstances he can already guess the answer to that question. “Are your parents pissed about what happened?”

Caleb gives a bitter laugh. “Yeah, that’s a fucking understatement. You’re lucky your dad was already waiting in the driveway to take you home when Dr. Bright dropped us off. You didn’t have to come inside and see my parents completely flip their shit.”

“Yikes.” Adam has spent enough time at Caleb’s house to know how unusual it is for Mr. and Mrs. Michaels to get genuinely angry at their son. “What happened?”

“Well, they immediately started freaking out because my clothes still had blood on them and they thought I was hurt. But then Dr. Bright explained what happened and they, like, super lost it. They yelled at her to get out of the house, and she didn’t really fight them on it. I could feel the guilt flowing out of her as she left, like maybe she thought they were right for blaming her? I couldn’t really tell. And then they started in on me, about how they thought I had everything under control and how could I just lose it on someone like that. I haven’t felt them so scared and angry since this whole thing with my ability first started, and that just made _me_ more scared and angry like one of those feedback loop things. It was just… It was _not_ good.”

His face crinkles with worry. Adam wants nothing more than to reach through the computer screen and comfort him by squeezing his hand tightly in support, like he had done in the back seat of Dr. Bright’s car when she’d driven them home from the safe house. Instead, he can only offer the commiseration of “That really sucks. I’m sorry.”

“And like… you know my parents. You know that I don’t really get into fights with them except about dumb teenage stuff. But this feels so much bigger than any of that. Especially when they were all ‘You do know that this guy could press charges on you for assaulting him, right?’ So _that’s_ a thing that I didn’t think to worry about before now. But I don’t think Damien would do something like that.” Caleb hesitates in uncertainty before adding, “Would he?”

“He’d have to be pretty fucking stupid to go to the police when the whole reason you attacked him was because he tried to kidnap me,” Adam replies. “Besides, I feel like a guy like him would probably prefer to stay away from law enforcement in general.”

“Yeah, but what if he gets better from what I did to him and then uses his ability to convince the police that he didn’t do anything wrong? I could get in so much more trouble than just getting suspended from school like the other time I went apeshit on someone.” Caleb exhales a shaky breath and rests his head in his hands. “Oh God, I fucked up so badly.”

“Shh. It’s okay,” Adam soothes him, although he is unsure whether he believes his own words. “We don’t even know how long the AM is going to keep him. It might be a while until we have to start worrying about what he’s going to do next. And who the fuck knows what his priorities are, anyway?”

Caleb lifts his head from his hands. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right,” he says, although he does not sound fully convinced. “My parents don’t get it, though. They know that there are other atypicals out there, but when I tell them that a guy with mind control powers tried to kidnap you, suddenly _that’s_ a little too sci-fi for them.” He sighs. “But at least Alice has somehow managed to stay calm through all of this. Like, _weirdly_ calm. She’s definitely scared too, but it’s a way easier kind of fear to handle than what my parents are feeling. She hung out in here with me for a little while before my parents made her go to bed, so that was nice.”

A rush of envy passes through Adam at how Caleb can rely on the support of a sibling during this tumultuous time. Most of the time he doesn’t mind the solitude of being an only child, but right now the loneliness of it presses upon him more strongly than ever.

“What about you?” Caleb asks. “You said things at your house are bad too?”

“Well, Annabelle finally left a little while ago. That should give you a sense of how things went.”

“Oh, shit.” Caleb’s face twists in disgust. Adam doesn’t blame him, especially because he was able to feel every ounce of Mark’s pain upon hearing about what Annabelle had done to him. “She was still there when you got home?”

“Yeah. She was acting all concerned about me, but then I told my parents that it was mostly her fault that I was put in danger and they got _really_ pissed.” It feels strange to use the word “acting” to describe Annabelle’s worry for him, because Adam wants to believe that she _does_ genuinely care about his well-being, but he can think of no better way to describe the gap between her true nature and the version of herself that she presents to his family. “And then they managed to get mad at _me_ for almost getting kidnapped. Don’t ask me how _that_ works.”

“Ugh, that’s bullshit,” says Caleb. “At least they didn’t end up taking her side, though.”

“I guess. But I’ve never seen my mom and Annabelle fight like this before. I mean, they’re always getting into scientific debates, and sometimes they’ll argue about stupid sibling stuff like you and Alice do. But this was on a whole new level. Like a ‘I don’t think things will be the same between them for a long time’ level. I guess it’s only natural when you find out that someone in your family is a lot more dangerous than you thought, but… I don’t know. I feel like me finding out the truth about her has really fucked things up between them.”

A strange look comes across Caleb’s face at the word “dangerous,” a mixture of hurt and regret. “Does your family think that _I’m_ dangerous?” he asks, his voice quiet.

Adam is relieved that Caleb cannot feel any shifts in his emotions that may give away the truth. His ability does not quite act like a lie detector, but just as some people have physical tells that give them away, Caleb has admitted to him that he can sometimes pick up on emotional tells that reveal a person’s dishonesty. He does not _want_ to lie to Caleb, of course, especially because they have promised to have no secrets between them. Telling Caleb about his parents’ doubts will only make him feel worse, however, and so Adam chooses to step around the truth and not give Caleb an outright confirmation of his fears.

“I told them that you would never do anything to hurt me,” he says, echoing the comfort that he had offered him in the bedroom at the safe house. “That didn’t stop them from being totally freaked, but I tried to make them understand.”

Caleb’s frown deepens despite the reassurance. “My parents think I’m dangerous,” he admits.

“Caleb, no, I’m sure they don’t--”

“They do.” Caleb’s voice trembles. “I feel how scared they are. And it’s not just that they’re scared _for_ me. I know what that feels like from them, because they feel it all the fucking time. But this is different. This is--It’s definitely them being scared _of_ me. Of what my ability can make me do.”

Adam’s heart aches at the quiet sniffle that Caleb gives as he attempts to hold his emotions together. Once again, Adam wishes that he could be at his side, holding him close and letting the warmth of his touch remind him that he is not alone. Instead he can only offer him statements of love and support, but none of the words in the English language are enough to fully convey how much he wants to help him navigate these terrifying feelings. He is intimately familiar with the crushing feeling of inadequacy, but he has never felt it so strongly when it comes to his inability to help someone. Perhaps just as Caleb’s love for him is not enough to cure his depression, Adam’s love is not enough to erase the trauma that comes with what Caleb has done.

“You’re scared now too,” Caleb notes at his silence.

Adam frowns. “I thought your ability doesn’t work when we aren't near each other.”

“Yeah, but I still see it in your face.” Caleb gestures at his computer screen. His hand is still bandaged from when Frank had tended to his injuries at the safe house. “I don’t always need my ability to know what you’re feeling, you know.”

“Wow, that almost sounded romantic.” As soon as the sarcastic words leave his mouth, Adam wonders if now is the best time for gentle teasing, but the small smile that Caleb cracks in response sets him at ease. “For real, though, I guess I’m just worried about not knowing how to help you. That being here for you and loving you no matter what isn’t going to be enough. I know you’ve said it is,” he adds before Caleb can object. “But there are some things you can’t really stop yourself from thinking.”

Caleb makes a quiet noise of agreement. “Hey, do you think your parents would be cool with you coming over tomorrow? I could use some, you know, green.”

“I’m not sure,” Adam replies. “They aren’t crazy about the idea of me hanging out with atypicals after what happened. I think it’s mostly Chloe and Sam and the rest of them that they don’t want me spending time with, but I kind of get the feeling that you’re on thin ice too.” When Caleb’s face falls in disappointment, he then says, “But I’ll talk to them. Not tonight, I think all of us need some time to cool down, but I’ll see what they say tomorrow.”

“Okay, good.” Caleb glances back toward his door, through which the indistinct sound of another male voice is audible. “Shit, that’s my dad,” he says. “I should go before he yells at me for being on the computer. But hopefully I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, you bet.” As much as Adam tends to fixate on the worst-case scenarios, he tries to remain optimistic that he will be allowed to see Caleb this weekend. “Love you.”

“Love you too. Good night.”

Caleb disconnects from the video call. Adam sets his laptop aside and lies down on his bed once again, lost in his thoughts until he finds the energy to change the mood of his music from “angry at the world” to something more soothing. He eventually hears his parents coming upstairs, and he braces himself for an attempt to coax him into further conversation. Sure enough, a light knock soon sounds against his door, followed by an inquiry of “Adam? Are you still awake?” from his father.

Adam does not respond. He closes his eyes and curls himself into a comfortable ball where he now lies on his side, even though the light that leaks under his door and the continued sound of his music likely give him away despite his attempts to feign sleep. When the door opens a crack, he lies still, his own breathing loud in his ears until he hears the door close again. Relief floods through him at how his dad has chosen to leave him alone. Despite often feeling as if he is a broken puzzle piece who doesn’t fit into the picture that his parents want, at least he can take comfort in how they are giving him space for now.

A heavy exhaustion fills him, the kind of tiredness that extends to his very bones and yet does not quite reach his mind. The disconnect between his racing thoughts and weary body is nothing new, but it leaves him restless as he longs for the rest that his brain refuses to give him. Instead the cavernous void in his chest grows impossibly larger, and when he finally drifts off to sleep still dressed in the clothes he’d worn all day, he clings to the shining light of imagining the warmth of Caleb sleeping beside him.


	2. Adam, Part II

By the time Adam wakes the next day, half the morning is already gone. The glowing numbers of “10:23 AM” stare at him on his alarm clock as everything that happened yesterday flows back into his mind. Each thought and memory adds a little more weight to the heaviness that sits on his chest, and he immediately knows that this is going to be one of those mornings when getting out of bed will be a tall order.

He reaches blindly for his phone on the bedside table, feeling around until he gets a hold on it. When he turns on the screen, he expects to see nothing more than a good morning text or snap from Caleb. Instead, he is greeted by two notifications that only add to the pit in his stomach: _Missed call - Annabelle - 9:48 AM_ and _Voicemail - Annabelle - 9:49 AM_.

He unlocks his phone and frowns at the “1” icon on his voicemail app that taunts him with the message that Annabelle has left. What could she possibly have to say to him that will change his mind about the horrifying details of her work with atypicals? As difficult as it is for Adam to reconcile that version of her with the aunt that he loves, he is certainly not going to doubt Mark’s account of what he endured at the AM no matter how much Annabelle tries to justify her actions.

He makes the executive decision to ignore the voicemail, not wanting to start off his day by going down that complicated road. He instead sends a quick text to Caleb: _Good morning babe_ , followed by a green heart emoji. The sentiment seems far too simple in the current circumstances, as if today is nothing more than an ordinary Saturday morning, but maybe pretending that everything is normal is what he needs right now.

Adam collapses down to his bed from his half-seated position and burrows himself deeper beneath his blankets. The heaviness of his emotions recedes into the familiar gaping abyss of hopelessness as he lies there staring at the ceiling. The only thing he can bring himself to do is put on one of his melancholy acoustic playlists and let the comfort of music fill his ears while he scrolls through his social media feeds and waits for Caleb’s response. He usually attributes a lack of immediate reply on a Saturday morning to Caleb being at the gym or going for a run, but today he wonders if he is sleeping late as well, clinging to whatever slumber he can get.

After almost half an hour has slipped by, Adam finally drags himself out of bed to take a shower. He spends longer than usual standing under the hot water, lost in thought as he watches the droplets that roll down his skin before they gather at the drain. By the time he gets out of the shower and is frowning at his messy, wet curls of hair in the foggy bathroom mirror, the clock has ticked well past eleven. His hunger now getting the better of him, he quickly throws on some clothes and goes downstairs to find something to eat.

In the kitchen, he finds his mother at the table working on her laptop with an empty mug of what had presumably been coffee beside her. “Good morning, Adam,” she says to him, barely looking up from her work.

“Morning,” he replies half-heartedly.

“You slept in rather late.”

“Yeah, well, it was a long day yesterday.” Adam opens the refrigerator and glances through its contents. The timing is perfect for brunch, and so he leans more in the breakfast direction and decides to make some scrambled eggs and toast. “Did Dad get called in to work?” he asks as he brings his ingredients to the stove and takes a frying pan out of the cupboard.

“Yes,” his mom says. “He’s at the hospital right now. I’m working from home today.”

Adam doesn’t ask why she is not at the hospital as well. His parents do not always have the same schedule as each other, but he suspects the more likely reason why she is staying home today is so she can keep an eye on him. The prospects of being allowed to see Caleb today look increasingly lower if his parents are reluctant to leave him home alone for the day like they usually do when they have to work during the weekends.

He cracks the eggs into a bowl and whisks them together. He generally prefers baking to cooking, but having two parents who frequently work late hours means that he’d had to learn how to cook fairly quickly in order to subsist on anything beyond frozen meals and reheated leftovers. Preparing food usually gives him just enough of a distraction from his dark thoughts, and so his mind only takes brief turns into the usual fog of negativity while he stands at the stove poking at the eggs with a spatula as they cook.

When his meal is complete, he brings his plate to the kitchen table with a mug of coffee. His mother briefly glances up from her work as he sits down, and on her face he sees unmistakable worry mixed with vague parental disappointment. It’s the same expression that she’d worn for weeks after finding out about his self-harming, as if she thinks he is so fragile that he may break at any moment.

“So, uh, Annabelle called me this morning,” he offers hesitantly, unable to bear the silence between them.

His mom finally turns her complete attention away from the computer screen. Adam almost has to look away from her to avoid her concerned gaze. “What did she want?” she asks.

“I don’t know. I was still asleep when she called.” Adam takes a bite from his piece of toast. After he has swallowed, he adds, “She left a voicemail, but I didn’t listen to it.”

“Good. I told her that I didn’t want her talking to you. To think that she’d go behind my back and try to contact you the very next day…” She trails off, shaking her head. “She’s got some nerve.”

Adam eats a few forkfuls of eggs and washes them down with a sip of coffee. “I don’t want to talk to her right now either, if that makes you feel any better.”

“Yes. It does.”

She does not say anything further on the topic, and so Adam continues to eat in silence. As much as his curiosity pushes him toward inquiring about the parts of her fight with Annabelle that he did not witness, he does not want to prod at a sensitive topic. He needs to keep his mom in a relatively good mood if he is going to be allowed to see Caleb today.

“So,” he begins, broaching the subject with the swiftness of tearing off a Band-Aid as quickly as possible, “I was wondering if I could go over to Caleb’s house this afternoon.”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” she says in immediate response, not even bothering with the pretense of considering his request.

“Why not?” he demands. “He needs a lot of support right now, and I really need to be there for him. We probably wouldn’t even go out anywhere, and his parents are almost always home during the weekends anyway. We’d be safe.”

His mother purses her lips. “I just don’t think it’s wise for you to leave the house after what happened yesterday. I’d rather you stay here where your dad and I know exactly where you are and what you’re doing. You can see Caleb again at school on Monday.”

“That’s such bullshit!” Adam retorts.

“Adam,” she scolds him at his choice of language. “Don’t test me. You’re staying home this weekend, and that’s final.”

He huffs out a long breath of dual frustration and exasperation. He stuffs the last few bites of eggs into his mouth and then slouches down in his chair with a scowl. His mother pays no attention to his sulking, and so he begrudgingly acknowledges that she will not budge on her stance. With nothing else left to say to her that won’t get him into further trouble, he dutifully puts his dirty dishes in the dishwasher and washes the pan that he used to cook his eggs. He then leaves the kitchen with sullen steps, seeking the solitude of his bedroom where he does not have to face his mother and her overbearing concern.

On the way upstairs, his phone vibrates with the notification of a new text message. He takes his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans and sees that he has a text from Caleb:  _Did you ask your parents about coming over?_

Adam types out an answer as he climbs the last few stairs and walks down the hall. _I’ve essentially been grounded for the weekend so that’s definitely a no_ , he says.

He enters his bedroom and flops onto his bed, where he is soon met with Caleb’s swift response: _wtf why???_

 _My mom didn’t use the g word but it was pretty much implied_ , he replies. _Apparently almost getting kidnapped is a punishable offense now._

The initial response consists of only a single word: _Fuck_. As Caleb types a longer text in follow-up, Adam stretches out across his partially-made bed with his phone resting on his chest until it buzzes with the rest of the reply: _And sneaking out isn’t an option?_

 _Definitely not_ , Adam texts back, not wanting to think about the consequences of that course of action. He then adds, _But we can hang out over Skype again today if you want. At least I haven’t been banned from technology (yet)._

 _I won’t be able to until later this afternoon_ , reads Caleb’s response. _My parents want to take me to the doctor bc my finger is still messed up from yesterday. We’re leaving soon but I’ll let you know when I’m back home._

 _Ok great_. After sending the text, Adam hesitates while mentally composing the best way to phrase his next request. _Also I was wondering if you could give me Dr. Bright’s number_ , he finally types. Even though she is not his therapist, his parents’ profound unhelpfulness in the current situation makes him want to talk to an adult who understands at least a fraction of what he is feeling. _I think talking to her to might help me even though I’m not atypical._

 _Yeah hang on_ , Caleb replies with no further inquiries. After he has sent the number, he adds, _Its her work cell so she should pick up even if she’s not at her office. Idk if she’s working today but I’ve been able to have emergency sessions w/ her on saturdays before so you should be good_.

 _Thanks, you’re the best_. Adam adds a heart emoji to the message before sending it. _Good luck at the doctor._

Caleb responds with a weary emoji. Another message soon follows: _I gotta go now. Talk to you soon._

Adam sends back another heart emoji, this time using the green variant. Caleb sends him two in return, and the symbolic affirmation of their love lifts his spirits a fraction of an inch. The feeling only lasts for a few seconds, but for that glimmer of a moment Adam can almost believe that yesterday did not happen. The illusion soon shatters, however, and the familiar heavy weight settles into its usual home in his chest.

He sits up on his bed and takes a deep breath to brace himself before calling the number that Caleb has sent him. He listens to the rings of the phone, hoping that Dr. Bright will pick up. Maybe it’s a stupid idea to call her, he thinks. She might be too busy to talk to someone who isn’t her patient, or maybe she is hesitant to answer a call from an unknown number in the aftermath of recent events. He is about to give up and prematurely end the call, but then he finally hears her voice.

“Dr. Bright speaking.”

“Hi, Dr. Bright, it’s Adam,” he says. “Adam Hayes,” he then clarifies, in case there are any other Adams who would have a reason to call her.

“Adam, hi.” Beneath her usual professional warmth, he detects a trace of surprise in her voice. “How did you get this number? Is Caleb okay?”

“Yeah, he's fine.” Or as fine as he can be under the current circumstances, but surely Dr. Bright can infer that unspoken addition. “I asked him for your number because... Well, I kind of need to talk to someone after what happened yesterday. My parents don’t really get it because they’re too busy freaking out about how I almost got kidnapped. And Caleb and I have been handling everything as best as we can with each other, but it’s not really the same as talking to someone impartial.”

“While I understand your desire to talk to someone,” Dr. Bright says, choosing her words with the utmost care, “I can’t be the impartial party that you need. After everything that’s happened, it would be... inappropriate.”

“Please, Dr. Bright,” Adam persists. “I have a, you know, _normal_ therapist that I can usually talk to--I started seeing her over the summer and it’s mostly been good--but she doesn’t know anything about atypicals. So when she asks me how my week was at my next appointment, all I’ll be able to say is that Caleb beat up a guy to protect me, and now my parents are angry about how I was in such a dangerous situation. And I won’t be able to say the real reason why he did it, so I’ll have to pretend it was because of homophobia or something like that. And it doesn’t feel great to use that as a cover-up, because I’ve been really lucky that most people at school don’t give Caleb and me a hard time, at least not openly. So I won’t be able to talk about it at all unless I lie, and that kind of defeats the point of therapy, right?”

All of his words spill out before he realizes how desperate he sounds. The echo of Dr. Bright’s recent words, _It would be… inappropriate_ , repeats in his mind. How has he reached this point where he needs to call his boyfriend’s therapist in order to make sense of the past two days? She probably has enough to worry about without adding his problems into the equation. But Dr. Bright is much like him in how she is a non-atypical who has found herself involved in this strange and unusual world, and hopefully she understands what he faces on that front.

“Honesty in therapy is indeed important,” says Dr. Bright. “Normally I would advise against concealing essential background information from a mental health professional. But in this particular situation, I believe that discretion is the better option, at least when it comes to Caleb’s status as an atypical. Even if it means that you have to downplay the details of the incident.”

“Yeah, okay.” Adam picks at a loose thread on his quilt where the stitching is starting to wear after years of use. “But, um, could we still talk? Since there _are_ those things that I can’t talk about in regular therapy?”

Her initial silence does not give him much faith in her positive response. Finally, gently, she asks, “What’s on your mind, Adam?”, and some of the breath flows back into his lungs.

“You knew my aunt pretty well, right?” he begins, diving directly into one of the primary reasons he has wanted to talk to her, beyond her role as a trustworthy adult who has done so much to help Caleb. “When you worked with her at the AM?”

“I thought I knew her,” Dr. Bright replies. Adam recalls how she had emotionally crumbled at the safe house when Mark revealed the depths of his trauma. That turn in the conversation toward Mark’s horrifying experiences at the AM was when Adam had fully realized that the current situation is so much bigger than him and Caleb--and that maybe Annabelle is a monster after all.

“Yeah, so did I.” He hesitates before adding, “She’s always been the one person in my family that I actually like. When I was younger it was always the best thing ever when I got to spend the weekend with her. She’d buy me whatever books I wanted and tell me that I don’t have to force myself to like science and medicine just because that’s what my parents want from me. I don’t know, it’s like she _gets_ me in a way that my mom and dad don’t. And when Caleb told me that she worked for the AM and might have been doing a lot of shady stuff, way worse than what my parents did with the military experiments, I tried to make excuses in my head for her. That maybe I didn’t have all the details, or she’s just doing her job and there’s nothing she can do to change it. But everything she did to Mark--there’s no excusing that, right? Only someone who seriously has no problem with hurting people could do the things she did.”

“It can often be difficult to reconcile an impression that we have of someone with reality,” says Dr. Bright. “I wish I could tell you that the happy memories that you’ve made with her aren’t any less valid now that you know the truth about her work. But it’s not that simple, and I can’t advise you any further without my personal feelings getting in the way.”

“Is it like that for you and her?” Adam asks, unable to ignore the curiosity that gnaws at the pit of his stomach.

“This isn’t about me, Adam,” Dr. Bright reminds him. Her voice is kind, but it also carries an unavoidable sense of sternness in response to the question that is probably far too personal for him to ask.

“Yeah, but I’m not your patient,” he insists against his better instincts. “You don’t have to be professional with me like you do with Caleb. I just... I need to know that I’m not alone in feeling like this. I guess I could talk to my mom, because I know she’s feeling really betrayed by Annabelle right now too, but…”

He trails off, struggling to think of a valid explanation as to why he would rather come to Dr. Bright for support than speak to his own mother about a family issue. Through the phone, he hears the quiet sigh of Dr. Bright’s breath, as if she knows that she should not indulge him with a response but cannot resist doing so anyway.

“Ellie and I have a very complicated relationship,” she says. It’s strange for Adam to hear her refer to Annabelle by a nickname that no one in his family uses. There is a lot to unpack in how Annabelle has constructed an entirely different identity for herself at work, Ellie Wadsworth instead of Annabelle Whitney, but Adam does not want to follow those thoughts to their conclusion right now. “This isn’t the first time that I’ve had to reexamine my opinion of her, and I’m very sorry that you’ve now found yourself in a place where you feel betrayed by her as well. It’s my fault that you and Caleb got involved in this mess, and I can’t apologize enough for putting you in this situation.”

“Don’t apologize,” Adam replies. “I know they say that ignorance is bliss, but I’d rather know the truth than keep being blind to everything that she’s done. Even if it means that I’ll probably never be able to look at her the same way again.”

He thinks about his parents and how there has always been something different in their gaze since they found him cut open and bleeding by his own hand two years ago. Would they have preferred to remain unaware of how he was suffering so much that he thought self-harm was the only answer, or do they believe that knowing the truth is better, even if it forced them to reevaluate their view of their son? He wonders if they will look at Caleb differently now too, with their view of him forever tainted despite Adam’s insistence that Caleb would never hurt him. What makes Caleb’s actions better or more easily forgivable than what Annabelle has done to Mark and countless other atypicals? Why does he fear what Annabelle is capable of, but not Caleb?

“I mean, I know it’s possible to do bad things and still be a good person,” he continues on, remembering what he’d said to Caleb yesterday. “But how do I decide what’s unforgivable and what’s not?”

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that for you,” says Dr. Bright. “There may not even _be_ an answer. Questions of morality aren’t always as easy to figure out as we want them to be, especially when they involve people we care about.”

“I wish they were, though,” Adam says, almost to himself. Usually he loves a good unanswerable question, something that can be debated and examined from every angle, but ones that apply to his own life are significantly less appealing than anything strictly theoretical. “Anyway, um… Thanks for listening, Dr. Bright. I know calling you like this isn’t exactly normal, since I’m not your patient or even atypical. But I’m glad we were able to talk.”

“You’re welcome, Adam,” she replies. “And if you’ll allow me to give you a piece of advice?”

“Sure.”

“Remember to care of yourself. I know you want to make sure that you’re supporting Caleb in every way you can, and that’s a very admirable thing to do. But it’s also important to not neglect your own mental health in the process. Promise me that you’ll speak to your regular therapist about anything else that’s troubling you.”

“Yeah, I promise,” says Adam. “And thanks again.”

“Have a good weekend, Adam. Goodbye.”

Adam echoes her words of farewell, and then the call ends. The weight in his chest does not feel any lighter, but his conversation with Dr. Bright has given him the courage to revisit the “1” notification on his voicemail that he had ignored earlier. He opens the app and stares at the message from Annabelle and whatever justification of her actions or plea for forgiveness that it likely contains. His finger hovers above the delete button, ready to utterly disregard her attempt to reach him. He cannot bring himself to follow through with the action, however, and instead the message is left unplayed. unheard, in the temporary denial of a second chance.


	3. Caleb, Part I

Caleb has never felt this on-edge in Dr. Bright’s waiting room since he first entered it over a year ago.

It’s bad enough that his parents have come to his session with him so they can talk to Dr. Bright without the knee-jerk angry words they’d shouted at her on Friday night. Even worse is their insistence that they should speak with her privately first, leaving him alone in the waiting room while they make decisions for him behind closed doors. Times like these are when being seventeen and a half really sucks, Caleb thinks bitterly. He is only six months away from being old enough to make important choices for himself without his parents’ permission, and yet he currently has very little say in whether he will be allowed to continue to see Dr. Bright solely because the month on the calendar says so.

He closes his eyes and tries to focus on the emotions coming from inside her office, but he feels nothing but his parents’ fear and anger that have been smothering him all weekend. Usually their emotions feel comforting and familiar, something that he knows he can always come home to without becoming overwhelmed, but for the past two days they have been more powerful and all-consuming. He used to think that only his fellow teenagers feel emotions this strongly, having been told countless times that _everything_ seems earth-shattering when you’re a teenager. Now, however, he has realized that sometimes adults’ emotions can be even bigger and more terrifying than those of his peers. They crawl beneath his skin, tingling like an itch that he cannot scratch, and he wants nothing more than to jump to his feet and scream as loudly as he can.

He opens his eyes and shifts restlessly against the seat of the uncomfortable waiting room chair. His injured finger feels stiff in the splint that he’d received at the urgent care office yesterday, a reminder that beating someone to a pulp has affected him physically as well as mentally. At least a broken finger is guaranteed to heal within a few weeks as long as he’s careful. He has a feeling that it will take him a lot longer until he stops seeing Damien’s blood on his hands whenever he closes his eyes, or until his throat will no longer close up whenever he remembers the anger that had flowed through him during the assault. Even now his heart feels like it is about to beat out of his chest, and so he forces himself to take some deep breaths: in through his nose, hold, and then out through his mouth in the steady pattern that Dr. Bright has drilled into his head during their mindfulness exercises. With each breath that he takes, he feels less like he is on the verge of smashing something, but the prickling under his skin does not recede.

After what feels like an eternity, the door to the office opens. His parents walk out, followed by Dr. Bright. None of them say anything, but the volume in the room has been amplified now that there are no walls or closed doors between Caleb and all of the strong emotions that are not his own.

“You can come in now, Caleb,” Dr. Bright finally says where she stands in the doorway.

He glances over at where his parents now sit next to him, and his mom nods in silent permission for him to go. He rises to his feet and approaches Dr. Bright, who does not give him the warm smile that she usually greets him with. She appears as put-together as she normally does, but beneath that exterior he feels how tired and empty she is, as if the past few days have taken everything out of her.

“Sit down, Caleb,” she says after the office door has closed behind them.

He takes a seat on the couch as she settles herself into her usual armchair across from him. Now that he is alone with her, he can pick out her emotions more clearly. Usually he senses them as a pale bluish-gray, distant yet kind, and they make him feel calm like the gently lapping waves of the ocean. Now she carries a churning sea inside her, and each crashing wave adds to his own storm.

“How are you feeling today?” she asks.

Caleb scoffs. “Seriously? You’re really going to start with that?”

“I’ve started our sessions with that same question every week--”

“Well, obviously I’m feeling really shitty, so I don’t know why you’re asking,” he interrupts her before she can finish. His words cut through the air more sharply than he intends, and although her expression barely shifts, a pang of hurt flows into him. “Sorry, I--I didn’t mean to be rude or whatever. I know you’re probably just trying to do your job.”

“It’s quite all right,” Dr. Bright assures him. “This weekend has understandably been very difficult for you.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Caleb mutters.

The ticking of the clock on the wall seems louder than usual in the silence the falls between them. Dr. Bright regards him with a look that almost resembles pity, and the corresponding emotion makes his skin itch again with the uncomfortable thought that he doesn’t deserve her pity after what he has done.

“How’s your hand?” she asks. “I recall you saying that you might have broken one of your fingers.”

“Yeah, it’s definitely broken,” he replies. “The doctor said it’ll heal in a few weeks. But I’m supposed to take it easy with football for a little while, and I’m kind of thinking that might be a good thing.”

“What do you mean by that? In the past you’ve said that football is often a good way for you to process and focus your emotions. Has that changed?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I still enjoy playing, but I haven’t needed it as much lately because I’ve been pretty balanced out emotionally, you know? It wasn’t like last year when I was still figuring out how my ability works. But now…” Caleb trails off as the now-familiar fear wells up inside him, gathering energy from the parallel emotions from his parents in the waiting room. “It’s just like, what if I flip out on the field and end up hurting someone, even if I don’t mean to? It’s already a super physical sport even when I’m not getting angry and hulking out. And now that I know what I’m capable of, it’s like… God, it’s like I’m a big fucking bomb waiting to go off. Like it’ll just be a matter of time before I hurt someone again.”

“You don’t have to let that fear control you, Caleb,” Dr. Bright replies. “The incident on Friday was the culmination of some very extreme circumstances. And remember, the fact that you’re having these concerns means that you’re ultimately a good person. I know you don’t relish violence, and--”

“No, _stop_!” Caleb bursts out. The pressure inside him explodes like a shaken bottle of soda. The emotions that have built up inside him have nowhere to go, and so they spill forth into an expression of the anger that comes most easily to him. “You don’t know how awful it’s been for me since that night. You don’t have to remember what it’s like to feel a guy’s bones break under your fists. And _I’m_ the one who has to feel everyone’s reactions to it, all of your fear and anger and fucking _pity_ , and I’m _sick_ of it. I have enough shit to deal with without having to feel everyone else’s emotions too, and I’m so fucking _done_!”

“Caleb, take some deep breaths.” Dr. Bright’s voice is impossibly calm, and despite his angry words he does not sense any fear from her. “Focus on my emotions if you have to. Remember that you are more than your anger.”

Caleb does so, allowing her calmness to flow into him. With each slow inhale and exhale that he takes, the angry haze clears away a little more. He doesn’t even realize that he has stood up until he feels his body sink down onto the couch, collapsing against the cushions with the emotional exhaustion that he has felt all weekend.

“Have you been having a lot of outbursts like that recently?” Dr. Bright asks. Like always, her question is not judgmental, which eases a little of Caleb’s embarrassment at having shouted at her.

“Just one,” he says. “On Friday night with my parents after you dropped me off at home. Everything was just too much, and I blew up at them. Really badly. And ever since then, whenever I get a huge rush of emotions and can’t tell what’s mine and what’s not. I feel like I’m about to lose it any second. It’s like when my ability first showed up, except a hundred times worse.”

“Do you still feel that way right now?”

“A little,” Caleb admits. He hates how even after releasing some of his anger that has built up, he does not feel any relief. “I haven’t really been able to get rid of that ‘too much’ feeling. You know, when everything’s crawling under my skin and trying to push itself out.”

“Would you like to borrow a stress ball?” Dr. Bright asks. “I know in our early sessions that was sometimes a useful tool for letting out some of those feelings in a more productive manner.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

She rises from her chair and walks toward her desk, where she opens one of the drawers and takes out a stress ball shaped like the planet Earth. After she has given it to him, he grasps it tightly in his uninjured hand, feeling its familiar shape as he gives it a tentative squeeze. He exhales another deep breath and tries to shift his focus away from the continued pressure inside of him.

“What did my parents say when you talked to them?” he asks, even though he is already fairly certain that he will not like the answer.

A frown crosses Dr. Bright’s expression. In the swelling wave of emotions he picks out a sense of guilt that is distinct from his own, sharper with an edge of anger that reflects inward. He’d felt a similar emotion from her when she had driven him home from the safe house, and he remembers how strongly it had flowed into him when his parents had accused her of putting him in danger.

“They have some understandable concerns about what happened on Friday,” she replies. “They believe--and I agree with them--that after today it would be unwise for you to continue seeing me.”

“That’s bullshit!” Caleb exclaims. He has expected and feared this response, but hearing it still hits him like a full-body tackle on the football field. The hot, prickling sensation of his anger grows at the impact. He squeezes the stress ball again, feeling the raised ridges of the continents on its surface under his thumb. “They can’t just go behind my back and decide that for me.”

“You’re still a minor, Caleb. Your feelings on the matter are not invalid, but you ultimately have to abide by their decision.”

“Yeah, but _you_ don’t,” he points out. “You’re _my_ therapist, and like--look at me, I’m obviously a fucking mess. And yeah, I know that what happened was really bad, but you’re supposed to help me through it. But instead you’re just siding with them like what I want doesn’t even matter!”

He does not want to direct any of his anger toward Dr. Bright, but he cannot stop himself from feeling the sting of betrayal. It merges with every other complicated emotion, overwhelming him to the point that he wishes he could stop feeling _anything_ for a while.

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” she says. “Getting you involved in my personal issues was beyond unprofessional, and your parents are right to not want you seeing someone who put you in such a dangerous situation.”

“I would’ve gotten involved anyway,” Caleb insists. “Like, from the minute that I found out about Adam’s parents and his aunt, I never wasn’t going to be involved. And what I did to Damien wasn’t your fault. You totally shouldn’t blame yourself.”

“That’s very kind of you to say, Caleb.” Despite her words, a distinct wave of sadness emanates from her. “But I still stand by your parents’ decision.”

“But I can’t just stop going to therapy,” Caleb says. “Especially now. I mean, I have Adam, and he always makes me feel a lot better when I’m with him. But he has his own shit to deal with, and I don’t want to burden him. What am I going to do when I don’t have, you know, _you_?”

“I’ve given your parents the names of a couple of therapists in the area who have experience in treating teens and young adults who struggle with anger.” The sadness that has infiltrated Dr. Bright’s guilt does not yet fade. “I promise you, you won't have to face all of this alone.”

“Yeah, but this _isn’t_ just regular anger issues. There’s so much more to it that a regular therapist won’t get. That’s why my parents sent me to you in the first place, because they had a feeling that everything going on with me wasn’t normal. And you’re the only therapist for atypicals in this city, right?” He hesitates around his last words, clinging to the sliver of hope that maybe there _is_ someone else who can help him like she has.

“Other than the specialists at the AM, yes.”

Her expression remains impassive, but she cannot hide how her emotions have surged upon bringing up her former employer. It’s as if the volume on all of her feelings has been turned up, causing anger, guilt, and sadness to pour out of her at full blast. Caleb surreptitiously squeezes the stress ball again, not wanting her to notice how much she has overwhelmed him.

“I don’t want to lie about my ability, though,” he says. “I mean, how do I explain everything without bringing up the empath thing? ‘I relate to other people’s feelings too much and sometimes it makes me do really bad things’?”

The words feel stupid from the moment they leave his mouth, reminding him of how outside of his circle of atypical friends he truly is a freak. He remembers how during his first session with Dr. Bright he’d been so sure that she’d think he was crazy. Any normal therapist who is unaware of atypicals is bound to have that same thought, especially after his recent actions. A mental health professional who doubts his sanity is the last thing he needs when his psyche currently feels as if it is hanging by a thread.

“It’s an imperfect solution,” Dr. Bright replies. “But it’s the best option we have.”

Caleb does not need to feel her emotions to hear the lack of conviction behind her words. He has not yet grown accustomed to uncertainty from her, and the feeling sits uncomfortably on his chest as it slowly bleeds into everything else that swells within him.

“Do you know if he’s going to be okay?” he asks, not sure if he wants to know the answer. “Damien, I mean.”

Dr. Bright’s hesitation does not give him much confidence in a positive answer. “He’s currently in a medically-induced coma while the doctors at the AM assess the damage,” she says. “I’m afraid that’s the only update I have.”

“Shit,” Caleb mutters. He doesn’t know much about medicine, but the words “medically-induced coma” surely mean nothing good. His hands tremble at the memory of landing blow after blow on Damien’s body even after feeling skin and bones break beneath his fists. A stab of terror pierces through him at the thought of the AM locking him up if they find out that he is the one who has injured Damien so badly. The knowledge that they would likely not hesitate to label him as a dangerous threat makes him sick to his stomach, especially after hearing about what Mark had to endure at the AM as a so-called “dangerous” atypical..

“Caleb?” Dr. Bright prompts him gently. “Are you feeling all right? You look a little pale.”

He squeezes the stress ball harder. An inhale of breath rises in his lungs before it becomes trapped there, tight in his chest, until it finally tears its way out of him. The walls of the room feel like they are closing around him, and he is once again overcome by the restlessness that makes him want to jump to his feet and scream. He remains rooted to the couch, however, trying and failing to keep his breathing steady.

“I really fucked up, didn’t I?” he says.

He hates how his voice trembles with his quiet words. He continues to avoid Dr. Bright’s eyes, instead staring down at the distorted shape of the ball clenched tightly in his fist. His vision blurs with what he soon realizes are tears, which makes him feel even worse. He has not truly cried since Friday night in the immediate aftermath of what he did to Damien, and although objectively he knows that crying is a healthy way to process his emotions, he cannot push away his embarrassment as a pair of teardrops leak from his eyes.

“You didn’t, Caleb,” Dr. Bright assures him. “You made a mistake, but you’re far from the first person who has done so, especially in the name of protecting a loved one. And you are not worth any less because of what you did.”

“It wasn’t a mistake.” He lifts his gaze to fully look at her, even if it means that she will see the dampness in his eyes. “It’s not like… like I tripped and my fist landed in his face. I _wanted_ to hurt him. Maybe not that badly at first, but once I started hitting him I didn’t want to stop.” He sniffles loudly and wipes his nose with his hand. The tightness in his chest grows to almost unbearable levels. “And I hate feeling like this. Like I’m trapped somewhere and--and I can’t breathe.”

“Is that how you feel right now?” Dr. Bright inquires.

Caleb nods. She sounds so patient when she asks the question, even though his state of distress should be obvious to anyone looking at him. His shallow breaths catch in his throat as he runs his hand across his eyes to wipe away the tears that continue to fall. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he tells himself sternly to stop, but his body has no intention of listening to him. Instead his heart continues to beat a frantic rhythm, as if it wants to free itself from the five-ton weight that sits on his chest. 

“Take some deep breaths,” says Dr. Bright with the same gentle encouragement that she’d given him earlier when his anger had overpowered him. “Focus on my voice. Inhale, two, three. Exhale, two, three. Inhale, two, three...”

At first Caleb’s breaths continue to come out in halting half-sobs, but as he listens to the soothing sound of Dr. Bright’s voice, they lengthen into the controlled inhales and exhales that she wants from him. The quiet burst of her relief enters him, helping to further slow his heartbeat with each conscious breath that he takes.

“Good,” she tells him. “You’re doing great. Now, I want you to close your eyes and picture a feather. Imagine it rising into the air as you inhale. Watch it float, and then let it slowly come down as you exhale. Focus on that image as you keep breathing. Can you do that for me, Caleb?”

He nods again. He used to feel a little silly doing visualization exercises whenever Dr. Bright would guide him in meditation, but now as he imagines the gentle rise and fall of the feather, a warm embrace of comfort wraps around him like a blanket. The adrenaline gradually drains out of him, leaving a deep exhaustion in its wake.

“Remember that you’re in a safe place,” Dr. Bright says. “These feelings will pass. You won’t feel trapped forever.”

Caleb keeps his eyes closed as he continues to breathe. When he eventually opens his eyes, he sees Dr. Bright sitting calmly in her chair. Her emotions help him to not return to that place of fear, although beneath her comforting exterior he detects a faint sense of regret. It doesn’t feel like an intrusion, perhaps because it is so close to some of his own emotions, but it still prickles uncomfortably under his skin.

“Thanks,” he manages to say. His voice is heavy in his throat. “I feel a little better now.”

“You can take as much time as you need before you go back to your parents,” says Dr. Bright. “I don’t have any more patients scheduled for today, and I won’t be counting this as a regular session.”

Her words should come as a relief to Caleb, but instead a fresh ache of betrayal passes through him at how she is ending their session here, offering him no further support in accordance with his parents’ wishes. Part of him hopes that she will change her mind after seeing how fragile his mental state is, but there’s something unyielding in her emotions that tells him that the decision has been set in stone.

“Would you like a drink of water?” she asks.

At his affirmative reply, she gets up to pour him some water from the small dispenser perched on top of the mini-fridge. When she returns to the couch and hands him the disposable cup, he sees that she has also brought him a box of tissues from her desk as a silent reminder that there is no shame in crying. He accepts both items from her with a quiet word of thanks, and he drinks deeply to reintroduce moisture into his dry mouth before wiping his eyes and blowing his nose noisily. He must look like a sorry sight right now, and Dr. Bright’s compassion that borders on pity reinforces this suspicion.

“I’ll be at my desk if you need me,” she says.

Despite her physical presence in the room, Caleb feels more abandoned than ever as he sits on the couch rhythmically squeezing the stress ball to give himself something to focus on besides the heavy emotional atmosphere of the room. A small pile of used tissues accumulates next to him as everything continues to pour out of him in a much different manner from his usual instinct to express himself through anger. From across the room, he feels how Dr. Bright’s emotions have grown louder with an utter helplessness that he has never sensed from her before. The feeling does not make him any more prepared to leave this office.

“Um,” he finally ventures after he has lost track of the time that has passed with each tick of the clock. “I think I’ve calmed down enough. Should I do something with these, or--”

He holds up a crumpled handful of used tissues. In response, Dr. Bright gestures toward the small trash bin next to her desk. He rises from the couch and disposes of the tissues and the now-empty paper cup, along with placing the box of tissues and the stress ball on the surface of her desk.

“Thank you, Caleb,” she says. “I’ll...” She frowns, and Caleb wonders if she is about to offer her usual parting words that she will see him next week. “I’m sorry,” is all she says instead.

The regret that settles into the pit of his stomach speaks louder than any verbal apology she could give him. “Yeah, me too,” he replies. Then, hating the finality of this farewell, he adds, “Bye, Dr. Bright.”

“Take care, Caleb.”

A final wave of sadness follows him out of the room. Before he opens the door, he takes a deep breath to brace himself to face his parents. Their quiet conversation halts as they immediately rise to their feet to meet him. He does not need his ability to know what they are feeling, and instead he sees it in the scrunched-up frown on his mother’s face and the supportive hand that his father lays on his shoulder. Their concern smothers him, squeezing itself between his own emotions and the faint echo of what Dr. Bright is feeling in the next room, and all of it threatens to drown him.

By the time they leave the building and reach the privacy of the car, Caleb is too exhausted to argue with his parents about how they have taken away one of his most important pillars of support. Instead he slumps down in the back seat, staring blankly out the window and feeling more alone than ever. He takes out his phone and is met with the disappointment of no new notifications. He has not heard anything from Adam since yesterday afternoon when their Skype call had ended prematurely with Adam getting in trouble with his mom for the supposed crime of talking to his boyfriend. Although Adam usually devotes his Sundays to schoolwork, not even the heaviest of academic workloads prevents him from eventually responding to Caleb’s texts or sending him snaps of open books and color-coded notes. Either Adam’s parents have confiscated his phone and limited his computer usage in light of recent events, or he has realized that maybe he is better off without a boyfriend who has hurt someone like Caleb has. Caleb acknowledges that the latter is the worst-case scenario part of his brain talking, because Adam has repeatedly assured him that he will stay by his side no matter what, but that awareness does not stop the suspicion from seeping into his mind.

He opens the thread of unanswered texts that he has sent to Adam. None of them have been marked as seen, and he cannot decide whether that is better or worse than being left on read. _Everything’s even more fucked up now_ , he types. _My parents aren’t letting me see Dr. Bright anymore and idk what to do._ He frowns at the stack of his texts with no replies on the other side of the messaging interface. _I miss you_ , he adds. He considers including an emoji, but no face or combination of symbols adequately expresses how much his heart aches at the lack of communication from Adam. After talking to him every single day in some form since getting back together with him at the start of the school year, he doesn’t know what to do with Adam’s absence when he needs him the most.

“Who are you texting?” his mom asks him from the front seat of the car.

“No one,” Caleb replies sullenly, because without a response from Adam he might as well be texting into the void.

He puts on his headphones in a silent expression of wanting to be left alone and pulls up one of the many playlists that Adam has made for him. He closes his eyes, focusing on the music and how Adam meticulously arranges his playlists to reflect the content and mood of each song. If only he could be sitting next to him right now, with his headphones shared between them and Adam’s head resting on his shoulder--but right now they have nothing but the unwilling distance between them as everything continues to fall apart.


	4. Caleb, Part II

Caleb stays home from school on Monday and Tuesday that week, not wanting to face all of the emotions that live within the walls of his high school when he is in such a volatile state. After the inevitable fight that he has with his parents on Sunday afternoon after coming home from Dr. Bright’s office, he is surprised that they are so accommodating in letting him take two mental health days in a row. Even when they make unfair decisions for him about his life, at least they seem to understand to some degree why he cannot immediately return to school and pretend that everything is fine.

The downside of staying home, of course, is that it prolongs the time until he can see Adam again. Fortunately, Adam’s communications blackout comes to an end on Monday morning with a snap of a before-school selfie captioned with _Guess whose phone just got out of jail_. Caleb hates to disappoint him with his absence, but as far as he can tell through their texting conversations that follow, Adam fully sympathizes with his desire to avoid school for as long as he can. He can’t bring himself to tell Adam everything, however: how he hasn’t slept more than a few hours at a time since Friday and that his dreams are plagued with images of violence and loss of control. Instead he keeps everything close to his chest, not wanting to burden Adam with any additional problems.

Two days off from school is apparently the limit of his parents’ generosity, because by Tuesday night at the dinner table they are expressing their concerns that he should not fall behind in his schoolwork during such a crucial semester in his high school career. By now Caleb is tired of arguing with them, and so it is with a certain degree of reluctance that he drags himself out of bed the next morning after another restless night of sleep. He probably looks terrible, and he is definitely not ready to face the chaos of school, but the promise of having Adam’s arms wrapped tightly around him is enough to convince him to face the day.

When Caleb enters the school building, he doesn’t even stop at his locker first before texting Adam with an inquiry of _Where are you???_ The response of _Library, usual spot_ comes almost immediately, and so Caleb navigates through the students socializing in the halls to meet him. Upon entering the library, the emotions around him solidify into a combination of concentration and panic as students cram in last-minute study sessions or rush to finish their homework. Through the noise, a ping of familiar feelings hits him as he approaches the stacks. They call out to him like a beacon, fitting themselves neatly inside his chest like they have always belonged there.

He finds Adam sitting at one of the tables hidden amidst the bookshelves, where he often spends time before and after school when he needs an escape from his fellow students. The cord of his headphones twists and untwists around one of his fingers as he doodles in the margins of the notes that he is taking. He must be getting ahead on one of his assignments, Caleb decides, because a top student like Adam would never save homework for the morning of its due date.

At his approach, Adam’s usual quiet melancholy transforms into a burst of relief and pure joy that synchronizes with Caleb’s own emotions to overwhelm him in the best way possible. He removes his headphones and leaps up from his chair, throwing his arms around him tightly. Caleb returns the embrace, and he thinks that Adam’s feet actually come off the ground a little with the force of their hug. After drowning in the fear, anger, and guilt that have been his constant emotional environment for days, Caleb almost doesn’t know what to do with the glimmer of happiness shared between the two of them. It settles into that green place inside his heart where everything fits together perfectly, and every doubt that Caleb has experienced about whether Adam still loves him fades away.

“God, I missed you,” says Adam, his voice quiet in Caleb’s ear.

“Me too.” Caleb breathes in deeply, letting his senses fill up with everything Adam. “Would it be weird if we made out in the library this early in the morning, or…?”

Adam’s body shakes with his quiet laughter. “Maybe save that fantasy for another time, babe.”

Their lips meet in a brief kiss regardless before they break apart. A twinge of concern soon rises to the surface of Caleb’s emotions at the gentle touch of Adam’s hand. It’s not the pity and fear that have leaked into him for the past few days, but it upsets the balance that they have settled into.

“What’s wrong?” Caleb asks.

“Nothing,” replies Adam. “It’s just… Don’t take this the wrong way, but you kind of look like shit.”

“Wow, thanks.” He wants to leave the conversation there with the sarcastic response. but it is harder for him to hide his struggles from Adam when he is standing in front of him feeling the depth of how much he cares. “I, um, I haven’t been sleeping well,” he admits. “Since Friday.”

Adam frowns in sympathy. “Sorry. That sucks.”

“And it’s weird being back at school, too. Like, how am I supposed to go to class and pretend that everything’s totally normal after everything that happened? But my parents don’t want me missing too many classes or getting behind on college apps, so you know, I gotta.” Caleb sighs. “You’re lucky that you already applied early decision to Yale. That’s one less thing you have to deal with right now.”

“I’m not in the clear yet,” Adam reminds him. “I still have to keep my grades up and have a backup plan ready in case I don’t get in.”

“Dude, you’re getting in,” says Caleb, repeating the reassurance that he has offered at least once a week since Adam sent in his application. “They’re going to love you, and then you’ll get to go be the king of the dorks.”

“Too bad you’re not the one in charge of the admissions committee.”

“Yeah, I’d totally let you in for being super hot and an amazing kisser. And oh yeah, because you’re really fucking smart.”

Adam laughs. “All essential qualities in a Yale student, I’m sure.”

Caleb feels his worry regardless, similar to the academic anxiety that he frequently senses from him across the classroom whenever a teacher is handing back graded tests or essays. It’s the fear that what he has submitted will not be deemed good enough despite his best efforts, and this type of worry is strangely refreshing compared to everything that Caleb has felt since last weekend. He _knows_ how to deal with feelings like this one, as much as he hates when Adam is hard on himself. Maybe normal teenage drama has its place after all, if only to distract him from more serious issues.

A timid, studious-looking girl who must be a freshman approaches them on her way to one of the bookshelves, and they step aside to let her pass. A flash of embarrassment hits Caleb from three different directions when he realizes that despite the lowered voices of his and Adam’s conversation, this girl has likely heard his brazen declaration about Adam’s attractiveness and skill at kissing. If they were a straight couple, maybe the embarrassment would be less pronounced on all sides, but by now Caleb is used to the self-consciousness that comes with openly dating another boy.

“So what are the odds of us being able to hang out after school?” Adam asks after the girl has moved out of earshot. “My parents won’t be home until late, but they’ve figured out ways to check in on me to make sure I come home when I’m supposed to. Which, you know, is totally lame. But we can probably figure something out. You don’t have football today, right?”

Caleb shakes his head. “It’s an off day. I probably won’t be able to do much after school, because my dad will be home all day and he’ll freak if I stay out too late. But I can at least give you a ride home if you want. My mom let me use her car today.”

“It’s definitely better than nothing.” The faint sense of Adam’s hope flows into Caleb with his words, even though their parents’ oppressive concern about their safety does everything it can to limit the time that they have to spend with each other.

“I need to stop by my locker before homeroom,” Caleb says. “But I’ll see you in class second period?”

“You bet.” Adam squeezes his hand in reassurance. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Me too.”

Caleb casts a cautious glance to ensure that no one else is around them before leaning in to kiss him. They linger in the kiss for a few extra seconds, and then he steps back to let Adam return to his notes. As he walks away, he is unable to resist turning around and casting another glance back at him. Adam meets his eyes and gives him a little wave that makes him glad that there are no other empaths in the vicinity who can feel his heart melt at how lucky he is to have a boyfriend like Adam.

The school day drags on longer than it should as Caleb readjusts to being surrounded by so many different emotions. His classes that he shares with Adam are easy enough to handle, but when Adam is not there to drown out everyone else, he finds himself returning to that restless place where he wants to claw off his own skin. He is now hyper-aware of the scattered feelings around him, fearing the effect they will have on him if they become too much for him to handle. He almost has to excuse himself to the nurse’s office to lie down during math class when everything starts to verge upon that territory of “too much,” but he manages to steady himself with a few deep breaths. All of the example math problems on the board go in one ear and out the other as he tries to focus on something other than the emotional noise around him, and he already suspects that he will have to ask Adam for help on his homework later.

After the final bell rings at the end of the day, he and Adam linger as long as possible at their lockers before leaving the school building. Although Caleb is eager to leave behind the loud and conflicting feelings of his peers, each step that he takes toward the parking lot brings him closer to when he and Adam have to part ways. Even when they have reached his mom’s car, his keys remain unturned in the ignition to prolong the time before their departure.

“Do you want to talk about the past few days, now that we have some privacy?” Adam asks hesitantly after he has settled into the passenger seat. “I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. But I’m here if you need someone to talk to.”

The two of them have indeed barely discussed heavier matters since the weekend, only filling each other in with the basic details over text after Adam had gotten his phone back on Monday morning. After everything that Caleb has learned in therapy about not bottling up emotions, whether they are his own or those of others, he feels a little more inclined to share what weighs on his mind despite Adam’s clear nervousness upon posing the question. Dr. Bright would be proud that the two of them are about to have a serious conversation in person rather than through the more impersonal method of text messages--but thinking about her only reminds Caleb that he has lost her as a means of support.

“Yeah, um…” Caleb takes a breath of hesitation of his own. “I don’t know. Things have still been rough with my parents. And then last night I made Alice super upset, because she was in one of her thirteen-year-old girl moods and I wasn’t great at handling it so I shouted at her a bit. We’re good now, I think--she understands that I’ve been having a hard time with other people’s emotions lately--but with my parents it’s like, I’m so tired of fighting with them and I think they’re sick of it too, so we just kind of don’t talk about stuff unless we have to. Which is _really_ weird for my family.”

“Yeah, well, fortunately you’re talking to someone whose family has a gold medal in Not Talking About Stuff Unless We Have To.” He can almost hear the capitalized emphasis in Adam’s words. “Have they still not changed their mind about whether you can keep seeing Dr. Bright?”

Caleb shakes his head. “I haven’t brought it up with them since we argued about it on Sunday. But they’ve already set up an appointment for me with one of the other therapists that she recommended to them, so I think it’s pretty much set that they want to cut me off from the rest of the atypical world.”

“Damn. That blows.”

Adam reaches for his hand in support, giving him the courage to continue talking. As much as he does not want to burden Adam with what he has been going through, perhaps it is a weight that they need to bear together, just like he has always shared in Adam’s emotions.

“I haven’t told anyone else about this,” he says. “But on Sunday in Dr. Bright’s office I… I think I kind of had a panic attack. Or maybe an anxiety attack? I’m not really sure what the difference is. But my chest started to hurt, and my heart was beating super fast, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. It reminded me of--remember when we first met Sam, and she time-traveled away because she could feel a panic attack coming? It was a lot like how she felt then, except it was way worse because it wasn’t just my emotions, it was Dr. Bright’s and my parents’ emotions too. And afterward I felt so _awful_ for a long time, even after Dr. Bright helped me calm down, and now I’m afraid it’s going to happen again. As if I need another reason to feel like I’m about to explode at any second, right?”

“You’re not going to explode.” Adam runs his thumb across the ridge of Caleb’s knuckles. “And it’s okay to be afraid, I think. No one’s expecting you to have everything sorted out after all the shit that happened. And you know you can always talk to me whenever things get bad. Even if it’s three A.M. on a school night and you can’t stop crying.”

“You say that like that’s something you have experience with,” Caleb says. At the burst of uncomfortable sadness that he immediately receives from Adam, he adds, “Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to, like, call you out or anything. I just--”

“No, it’s fine,” Adam assures him. “It’s just that… Well, before I met you, there were a lot of times when I wished that I had someone who I could talk to no matter what. I’m just glad that I can be that person for someone else now.”

“You’d seriously pick up if I called you having a total breakdown at three in the morning?” asks Caleb, even though Adam’s emotions have already revealed the answer to him.

“In a heartbeat.”

Adam squeezes his hand tightly. The flash of sadness that Caleb has felt from him fades away to be replaced by the usual harmony of green. A faint melancholy continues to lurk behind the equilibrium, but by now Caleb knows how to fit those feelings into his heart so that they do not overwhelm him like they used to.

“I’d do the same for you, you know,” he says. “I know things have been hard for you too, with everything about your aunt. So I’ll always be there to pick up the phone or whatever. No matter what.”

“I know.” Adam lets go of his hand and punches his shoulder affectionately. “You big sap.”

“Dork.”

“Meathead.”

The parking lot has steadily emptied around them as they talk. As much as Caleb wants to stay in this moment with Adam forever, each passing minute puts him in further danger of sailing past the time that his dad expects him to return home from school. He therefore starts the car and pulls out of the parking space, and as always he lets Adam take control of the music for the short drive ahead of them.

“I thought ‘Chasing Cars’ was ‘the most overplayed Snow Patrol song’ according to the notes on a playlist you gave me last spring,” Caleb says upon recognizing the song at its first few notes. “Kind of mainstream of you, huh?”

“And if you remember the _rest_ of my notes for that playlist, I also said that I don’t care and I like it anyway,” replies Adam. “Besides, you can’t accuse me of having occasionally basic music taste. You were completely hopeless before you met me.”

“Yeah, because that’s the only reason I’m dating you. Because of your good taste in music.”

“Obviously.”

Caleb cannot glance over at him while keeping his eyes on the road, but he hears the smile in Adam’s voice and feels it in his emotions. He listens to the lyrics playing over the speakers-- _If I lay here, if I just lay here, would you lie with me and just forget the world?_ \--and feels the truth of them deep inside his soul. He wishes that it was that easy for him and Adam to forget everything that weighs them down and lose themselves in a world of their own. Perhaps that’s why Adam put the song on that one playlist all those months ago, because even then he knew that he wanted to find that elusive place for him and Caleb. The two of them have certainly come a long way since the tentative start of their relationship, and maybe for now all they need is that state of green where their emotions merge together and everything else melts away.

“Well, I guess I should--” Adam says when they pull into his empty driveway.

He reaches for his backpack in the back seat. Caleb makes sure that the car is in park before laying a hand on Adam’s arm to keep him close for one final moment before they have to say goodbye. When he leans in for a kiss, Adam responds to him with eager passion, and Caleb holds on to everything that fills his senses: the warmth of Adam’s mouth, the tender touch of his fingers against his skin, and the pure bliss of their shared emotions.

“I love you,” he says to Adam after they have finally broken their kiss.

“I love you too,” Adam replies. His hand gently strokes down Caleb’s cheek and across the line of his jaw before he withdraws his touch. “It’ll be okay, you know,” he adds. “I mean, I know it’s weird for me to say something like that. I’m not usually Mr. Optimism when it comes to these things. But we can get through this, together.”

“Yeah.” Caleb exhales a deep breath as he meets the eyes of the person whom he loves more than anything else. The happiness between them does not yet fade, and through the darkness that has filled his thoughts over the past several days, the faintest of sparks glows on a distant horizon. “I know we will.”


End file.
